


Heal

by Skyzuki



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash, Fluff, Light Angst, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 22:11:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14840105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyzuki/pseuds/Skyzuki
Summary: Doctor Ziegler is somehow the embodiment of both effortless beauty and overburdened anxiety.





	Heal

Doctor Ziegler is somehow the embodiment of both effortless beauty and overburdened anxiety. She is equally adept with a weapon as she would be with a medkit, and she often works herself to the point of collapse, despite knowing the signs. She is compassionate and self-sacrificing in way that often lands her in danger, yet she has never relented in her kindness.

Simply put, Doctor Ziegler does _not_ know when to quit.

She wants to be on every mission, she wants to ensure that her comrades are safe and well-tended to. She is stubborn as an ox, and only fully trusts herself with the job. Which is why she drops her pen in shock when Pharah comes into the clinic.

“ _Mein Gott,_ Fareeha, what have you done?!”

Her reaction, as Pharah could’ve predicted, is extremely overdramatic; the Doctor has seen her in much worse condition and tended to her without a complaint, it is the fact that she could not be apart of the mission that caused her anxiety to jump. Being met with an injured member of her team is the most world shattering thing for her when she couldn’t be there in the first place, when she knows she could’ve stopped it if she had been.

Pharah has earned herself a nasty looking bullet graze on her upper arm. Its since been shoddily bandaged with strips of cloth but has yet to be tended to by anyone qualified to do so. There is a sizable bruise on her temple, a clean slice through one of her eyebrows, and a dull ache in her shoulder that will not go away.

“I’m fine, Angela,” She insists “I just need to be patched up.”

“I knew I should have come with you.” Angela sighs, digging around for a roll of gauze and snapping on a pair of gloves.

“You were needed here.”

“Nonsense! I was obviously needed in Rialto as well.”

Pharah just huffs as the Doctor begins to prod at the laceration on her eyebrow.

“You should’ve had stitches here, its going to scar.” She remarks, tearing open a butterfly closure and adhering it to the wounded area.

“I have worse scars.”

“That’s far from the point, Fareeha.”

The graze on her arm is next to be inspected. Her armor caught the brunt of the impact, but the shot was strong and seared right through the metal. It bled a considerable amount when it happened, and the injury itself is still raw and leaking. The Doctor cleans the wound with more care than usual.

“Change these bandages twice a day.” Angela states as she begins to roll the gauze around Pharah’s arm. “Have you felt feverish? How bad is the pain, now?”

“No fever, no pain. I am fine”

Angela lets out a humorless chuckle. “If you were fine, you wouldn’t be in my clinic.”

 _“Ya Hayati,”_ Pharah murmurs, bringing her fingers to the Doctor’s chin and gently tilting her face upward. “I keep telling you, I am fine.”

Blinking, Angela lowers her gaze once again to focus on the task before her. “And I am telling you,” she yanks the gauze taut, possibly too hard “to be more careful.”

“Alright.” Pharah agrees, gently, her hand coming to rest against the Doctor’s cheek, thumb grazing her cheekbone.

“Thank you, Fareeha.” She finishes taping the bandage and meets her patient’s eyes.

Pharah kisses her, then, softly and quickly. From this close, she can catch the familiar, sterile scent that Angela always carries.

“I’m sorry,” Says the Doctor “I just worry.”

“I know you do, it’s alright.”

“I don’t want to see you injured.”

“I know, I know.” Pharah wraps her arms around the Doctor’s slim waist, pulling her closer, head resting against her chest.

The Doctor’s fingers begin to card through Pharah’s unwashed hair.

“I have other patients, you know.”

Pharah makes a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement before leaning away from the Doctor and sliding off the table.

“Thank you for your time, Doctor Ziegler.” She whispers, stealing another kiss on her cheek.

 

 


End file.
